The Mourning After
by Roobarb
Summary: When Sally Lester returns to the 4077th, it starts a chain of events which will change some people's lives forever. Complete and about bloody time!
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** This is the follow up to 'Not a Very British War.' You might find it useful to read it first! If not, e-mail me and I'll send you a short plot synopsis.

**Chapter One**

Mulcahy found himself standing in the middle of the compound, an icy wind blowing about him. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck as the ambulances rolled in once more. The doors flew open and khaki clad figures descended like worker ants, picking up bodies and scuttling them away from the freezing wind.

His eyes caught a flash of emerald, and instinctively he drew closer. But the ants swarmed round and before he knew it, the flash had passed by him. He whirled wildly in the middle of the dirt, looking for any evidence as to where it might have gone. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of it again as it went through the doors into pre-op and he followed swiftly.

In a moment he was standing in the Operating Room. There was just one table there, with everyone gathered around it. On the table lay a bolt of emerald green fabric, and again he was drawn towards it. Six faces stared at him, Hawkeye and BJ and Charles were standing over the fabric with knives in their hands. Margaret stood at the foot of the table and Klinger and Potter were standing either side like sentries guarding some ancient Egyptian Princess lying in state. Hawkeye spoke first.

"Hurry Father, we're losing her."

Mulcahy was confused, he couldn't see what it was they were doing to the emerald on the table.

"Father, you have to do something. You have to do your duty." BJ spoke now, looking at him, but through him at the same time.

Mulcahy stepped closer to the table and saw that it was, in fact, a body. A slim, perfect body encased in emerald silk. His heart began to beat faster as his feet forced him forwards.

"You don't know how hard this is, John," Margaret spoke now.

"I do!" he yelled at her. "I know because it's just as hard for me."

"But you'll always have your faith as comfort. What do I have? A broken heart and the knowledge that the man I love is beyond my reach forever. I may as well be dead."

He didn't know who spoke then, the voices became a cacophony of sound which he couldn't decipher. He caught the odd phrase, here and there.

"I can't take it anymore I have to go."

"I can't stop the bleeding."

"How can I let you go? Please, God, make me stop loving him."

"Father, do something. Father, you have to. She's dying."

He reached the head of the bed and leaned over. The emerald green contrasted sharply with the deathly pallor of the face which he was now looking down upon. The lips painted red, a deep blood red. The beautiful, peaceful countenace of Sally. His Sally. He reached to his chest to find his crucifix, but it no longer hung in its place round his neck. He tried to remember the words of the Last Rites, but his lips were frozen and he could not find the breath to speak to her. Her eyelids snapped open to reveal cold, unseeing eyes. Dark brown and hypnotising as always, but without a single spark of life. Her red lips parted in a dying prayer.

"Please, John, don't let me go. I love you." And then she stopped breathing.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

_September 1958_

Hawkeye Pierce was woken from his warm and cosy dream by the sound of someone yelling the house down. In a second he was on his feet and running towards the source of the noise. Without bothering to knock he burst through the door of the room to find Father Mulcahy sitting bolt upright in his bed, clutching desperately at the bedclothes.

"Father? Father, what on earth's wrong? Talk to me."

The Priest looked at him with unseeing eyes, staring at him with horror. His breath was coming in short, uneven bursts and Hawkeye realised with a shock that tears were running down his cheeks. It took several minutes before Mulcahy was able to speak, and when he did it was in little more than a whisper.

"I'm… I'm fine," he croaked. "I just had a nightmare."

"That must've been one heck of a bad dream, Father." Hawkeye said softly, "You've woken up half of the Cove. What's the matter?"

"I suppose being back near everyone again. It brings back memories, that's all." He looked down shyly at his hands which were still gripping the blankets. "Not particularly good ones, either."

Hawkeye sighed. He knew what it was to have nightmares. In the first few years after he left Korea it wasn't uncommon for him to find himself waking up in exactly the same state as the Father. But he had an inkling that Mulcahy's troubles were more localised than the usual horrors of the war.

"Those memories wouldn't include a certain British doctor?" Hawkeye bit his tongue, hoping he hadn't put his foot in it by mentioning Sally. Mulcahy's blue eyes flashed at him in panic. That told Hawkeye all he needed to know.

"Look, I know I've told you this a hundred times. And I'm gonna keep telling you until it gets through. What happened to Sally was the fault of whichever idiot picked the fight which got us all sent out there in the first place. Don't keep beating yourself up with your Catholic guilt complex."

Mulcahy peered at him through the low light of the early morning. "But if I hadn't…" he struggled to find the words. "If I hadn't been so weak, so open to suggestion. If I had the courage to… I don't know. She shouldn't have been at the front, and she wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for me."

Hawkeye sighed distractedly. "Of course, it was all your fault, wasn't it? She was an innocent bystander to your animal urges. If you want to blame anyone, I'd blame the parents." Mulcahy looked baffled. "Well, they were the ones who made her so damned attractive that not even a priest could resist. Those eyes, the little bow of her lips…"

Hawkeye could see the smile playing on Mulcahy's lips as they remember their friend. Sally had made an impression on more than just Mulcahy during her time at the 4077th. Hawkeye had the privilege of tasting those lips on at least one memorable occasion too, and it was an encounter he always remembered with a smile.

"Well, if you're done with the blood curdling screams, Father, I'll be off back to bed."

"Thank you, Hawkeye. I'm sorry I disturbed you. Just sometimes, well…"

"I know. G'night Father."

"Good night, Hawkeye."

Mulcahy watched carefully as his friend stood from the bed and walked to the door, closing it quietly behind him. He assumed it was quietly, because everything was quiet to Mulcahy now. The blast which had robbed him of 80 per cent of his hearing affected his faith in much the same way. For the three years of the war he had answered every call God made to him, followed every sign God gave him of the right way to go. And in those three years he made one mistake in the eyes of God, and he was punished more severely than he could ever have imagined. The last 6 months in Korea robbed him of more than he ever thought was possible. He reached out onto his bedside table and lifted the book which lay there. There was a time when that book would be the bible, but no longer. The book was a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson, and he opened it to read the inscription on the inside cover. It was written in a wild scrawl which could only belong to a doctor. But it was a scrawl which Mulcahy could decipher with ease. He read the words for the millionth time, tracing every loop and curve of the letters, even though he knew them by heart.

_"Johnny. This book found its way into my possession through means of which I am unsure. I thought I ought to make an effort to learn more about the literature of your country, and it has lain under my pillow for the last month. It has brought me great comfort since I left you, and I wanted you to have it. Please excuse the frank margin notes, I hope you accept them in the way they are intended – as a reminder of me and also as proof that it isn't always easy to forget. Miss you, love Sally xx"_

Smiling to himself, Mulcahy turned to the page which had obviously been read the most. The corner had been folded over to keep the place. He read again the poem there, and the notes written in the margin. The words that made him feel close to her again.

_Today was a bad day. I miss him so much it feels as though it would be easier to simply lie down and stop breathing. I tried that, but my lungs conspire against me and force the oxygen in. For the first time in my career I am in despair at the body's ability to survive. His eyes, his smile- imprinted on my treacherous memory which will not let me forget. Lord, if you can show mercy to a sinner, please let me forget. Please God, make me stop loving him."_

Mulcahy could feel his eyes burning as he began to read the poem, his lips moving along with the words on the page. The poem that had made her think of him. _"Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me, Then I, my thoughts, will dim. Haste! 'lest while you're lagging I may remember him!"_

When he was finished reading, he carefully removed his glasses, and rubbed his tired eyes. He tried hard not to let the words she wrote affect him, and he understood the reasoning behind them. He too had prayed for God to take the pain away. He prayed that he might forget, or realise the error of his ways. He tried hard to repent for his feelings, but in his heart he knew he never could. He hoped Sally never could either. He stretched out an arm and turned off the bedside lamp, before placing the small book under his pillow.

He felt closer to her then, and slept peacefully until morning.

oOo

Hawkeye was awake early and spent some time preparing a hearty breakfast for his guests. First downstairs was BJ Hunnicut. His eyes grew wide when he saw the feast laid on before him.

"Hey, since when did you learn to cook like this?" he asked incredulously, looking at the array of bacon, egg, sausage, pancake and various other components of 'Breakfast a la Hawk'. Taking his place at the table, BJ poured himself a cup of coffee and began to pick on a slice of toast. Hawkeye turned away from the stove to face him, and BJ could not keep the smile from his face when he saw the 'I'm with Stupid' apron which Hawkeye was wearing. He had never looked so ridiculous, with a spatula in one hand and the other resting precariously on his hip.

"Lovely," said BJ, "You're every inch the suburban housewife. Can we go play on the swings today, Mom?"

Hawkeye snorted with derision. "Don't go changing the subject, Beej. You need more than a slice of toast for breakfast. Come on, eat up."

"Why the sudden concern about my eating habits. We were lucky if we got a lick of a sweaty sneaker some mornings when we were over there. I didn't hear you nagging me then."

"Yeah well," came Hawkeye's defensive reply, "I wasn't up at the crack of dawn cooking the sneaker, was I? Anyway, I owe it to Peg to make sure you eat properly while you're here. She'll never let me forget it if you waste away under my care."

BJ's face fell at the mention of his wife. Hawkeye noticed this, and opened his mouth to comment before realising that he didn't have a clue what to say. His best friend had been cagey about the reasons why Peg could not accompany him to the first reunion of the MASH 4077th. When he had pressed him on the telephone, all BJ would say was that she had other commitments, and Erin didn't travel too well. Hawkeye had made a joke about making her sound like a fine wine and they had laughed at it. He realised that the only way he could deal with this was with humour. And, judging by the look on BJ's face, he wasn't in the mood for laughing.

While Hawkeye stood wrestling with his conscience, the silence was broken by the arrival of Father Mulcahy. Only he didn't look like Father Mulcahy on this morning. He was wearing an open necked shirt and a pair of smart brown trousers. There was no sign of his religious persuasion anywhere on his person, which surprised both BJ and Hawkeye. Although Mulcahy had arrived in 'mufty' (as they had jokingly referred to it) the day previously, Hawkeye thought that he would certainly have been dressed for the occasion which awaited them that afternoon. He said as much to Mulcahy as he sat down to breakfast. His reply stunned both his friends.

"I may as well tell you both now, you'll find out sooner or later. I don't tend to dress like a priest now because I'm not really a priest anymore. I haven't been for almost a year now."

Hawkeye wheeled round from the stove and stared in astonishment, while BJ dropped his toast onto his plate.

"When did this happen?" BJ asked.

"Yeah," continued Hawkeye. "When did our Father stop being our Father?"

Mulcahy shifted awkwardly and pushed his glasses further up his nose. He knew he was going to be telling this story a lot over the few hours, and so it was almost a relief to have something of a rehearsal. He knew it was useless beating about the bush with Hawkeye and BJ - they knew him too well to let him fob them off with anything other than the truth.

"Well," he began, "You can probably guess when it began." He looked at them both for confirmation, and their refusal to meet his gaze told him they knew what he was talking about. "But I somehow managed to cling onto some kind of faith until the end of the war. I knew I had souls to save, and whilst I had them to deal with I could almost force myself to believe. Then I went to work with the deaf children, the children who had been damaged the same way as I had. But it was only a matter of time before someone realised about my… disability. I was given a discharge within a month. And so, I found myself back in Philadelphia, working in a city parish with all its challenges. And then my sister, Katherine, became ill."

Hawkeye moved forward, taking off his apron and sitting down on the chair beside BJ. Mulcahy continued his story, never missing a beat.

"She had been complaining about feeling under the weather for some time, but never had the opportunity to do anything about it. Typically, she was being a martyr. But none of us noticed just how ill she was, until it was too late. In the end, it was peaceful. And I'm grateful that she never suffered much, she kept her faith right to the end."

"What did she die of?" BJ asked, mouthing his words carefully to let Mulcahy lip read them.

"Cervical cancer. It spread so quickly she didn't stand a chance. I found myself wrapped up in the whole grief process, trying to make sense of it. I kept praying like I always have and I suddenly realised that I wasn't getting any answers. Then I thought back, and realised I hadn't had any answers for a while. Not since Sally, well, anyway…"

He cleared his throat whilst the other two looked on dumbstruck. Mulcahy's faith had been a constant throughout their time in Korea, along with Hawkeye's sense of humour and Klinger's section 8 requests. They had been through so much together, and now both BJ and Hawkeye felt that they knew nothing about this man who sat before them. He was the man they thought they had always known, but he was somehow changed. Less naïve, and far less cheerful. He radiated an air of melancholy and as he took a glass of orange juice, BJ voiced the question on both their lips.

"Does this mean you've lost your faith?" he asked.

Mulcahy considered the question carefully before answering. "I haven't lost my faith in God, but I have questioned my effectiveness as his representative. What use is a priest who cannot hear what God is telling him? And I'm not just talking metaphorically here, you understand. I felt I could no longer be relied upon to do God's bidding, and came to the conclusion that God was telling me through his silence that I was… I don't know… free to go perhaps?" He chuckled slightly, "God's way of letting me down gently; 'Thank you, Francis. We'll let you know.' Only He didn't. He just let me go."

The three men stared into space for a few moments, taking in the enormity of what had just been said. They began to realise that there would be more stories along these line, probably just as shocking to them, in the day ahead. They were meeting up with their friends and for the first time in five years they would be together again as a group. It was going to be a strange experience to say the least.

BJ was the first to break the silence. "Do you know who's going to be there today?" he asked Hawkeye.

"I have a fair idea," his friend replied. "As far as I know, Charles is coming, but Trapper isn't. Apparently his wife thinks we were a bad influence on him. He wanted to come, but he decided that now would not be a good time. I've only met her once, and as I was pretty drunk on that occasion I don't think I've done much to endear myself to her!"

BJ laughed again. "What about Margaret?"

"Ah, now Hotlips!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "Hotlips is most definitely on the guestlist, much to my surprise. She's probably a General now or something equally well to do. General Hotlips, at your service!" he giggled, "Man, what a hoot! And Radar will be there of course. We wouldn't be having the party without Radar. And Potter, well now he's on his own I think he's glad of the company."

They grew sombre again when they thought of Potter and how he had lost Mildred after she had waited to patiently for them to be togther. BJ began to think that Mulcahy was on the right lines, and maybe there was no justice in the world after all.

"Well, we'd better get going, we don't want to be late or we might miss something," Hawkeye said, looking at his watch. He began clearing the leftover food away and putting it in the refrigerator. "Looks like Dad and I are going to be eating well for the next few months."

BJ and Mulcahy made their way from the kitchen to gather their things for their overnight stay at the hotel where the reunion was to be held. At the top of the stairs, before he went into his own room, BJ put his hand on Mulcahy's arm.

"Father," he began.

"It's just 'Francis' now, BJ. Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he said, seeing the man's worried face, "I have."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_Korea, April 1953_

The casualties had been arriving in a steady stream for nearly twenty four hours before Hawkeye snapped. Just as they were coming to the end of the pile of wounded stacked up in pre-op, the tell tale whup-whupping of chopper blades signalled that his night was not over yet.

"There can't be anymore!" he yelled, "There just CAN'T be. We've had the entire United States Armed Forces through here tonight. Where are they finding them?"

Potter looked up from his vantage point across the room. "Two other MASH units took heavy shelling this afternoon, and a third in the area is bugging out. We're running the show. There should be more surgeons from the two bombed units arriving with their casualties by road."

Hawkeye sighed loudly. "Are they coming via Hawaii?" he asked sarcastically, before turning his attention back to the task in hand.

Two hours later, ambulances arrived in the compound. Klinger was out in a second, overseeing the unloading of the wounded, laying them out and checking everything was running smoothly. Margaret Houlihan was running triage, and she noticed amongst the organised chaos that the relief surgeons had arrived. She approached them immediately and introduced herself.

"Good to see you, Major. I'm Doctor Ian Atherton, MASH 8063rd. We took a bit of a beating as you can see."

Margaret nodded in silent agreement as she surveyed the mass of casualties lying around their feet whilst nurses rushed back and forth around them.

"Major, one of our doctors got hit pretty bad. I wonder can you look at her first?"

Dr Atherton pointed to the slight body lying in the very back of the ambulance. Margaret helped him carry the stretcher from the ambulance before calling out to Hawkeye who had stepped outside to assess the new batch of bodies.

"Doctor Pierce. I think you need to have a look at this."

"In a minute Margaret…" he said, agitated. "I'm going as fast…"

"No, I think you want to come now, Doctor."

Hawkeye reluctantly left his post and came over, grumbling as he did so.

"I know I said I like you when you're masterful. But really, Margaret…" He stopped short when he saw the bloodied face on the ground before him. "Right, Klinger. Get her right inside NOW! And tell Mulcahy I need to see him ASAP. Don't let him see her."

"Sure thing, what's the problem?" Klinger asked, then he saw who he was lifting. "Oh," he said, "Isn't that…"

"Sally." Hawkeye finished for him. "Right first time. And someone needs to tell our Padre that his sweetheart's just become another statistic."

Klinger called to Mulcahy through the door of the OR that Hawkeye wanted to see him, covering Sally's face with the sheet as he did so. Mulcahy breezed past in a moment, and Klinger manhandled her unconscious form through the doors and onto the table. BJ looked up from where he was closing.

"What've we got here then?" he asked, straining to look as the nurses hooked Sally up to IVs of blood and saline and prepped her for surgery.

Klinger, showing unusual tact, sidled over to BJ and whispered in his ear.

"Captain Lester, sir. Apparently she was posted to one of the MASH units that got attack. She's not looking too good, sir."

BJ brow crinkled above his mask, and he concentrated his mind on finishing what he was doing and trying not to think of his one-time roommate lying prone and bleeding only feet away.

Mulcahy found Hawkeye outside kneeling in the dirt beside a badly wounded nurse. The tall surgeon stood as he saw him coming and, taking him by the arm, led Mulcahy a little away from the frantic activity of pre-op. He took a deep breath and put his hands on the priest's shoulders, looking at him seriously.

"Father, do you know where Sally was posted last?"

Mulcahy's eyes looked heavenwards as he tried to recall the last letter she had sent him. It didn't take long, he committed her words to memory by reading and re-reading every item she sent him.

"She was in Tokyo awaiting re-deployment. She was hoping she'd be sent to an Evac hospital in Seoul. Why?"

Hawkeye looked away, then back at his friend. He chose his next words carefully.

"She didn't get that posting. She was sent to the 8063rd. She was there today when they were hit, and…" he stopped briefly as he saw the panic flick across Mulcahy's eyes, "There's no easy way to say this. She's been badly injured, and I'm about to go operate on her now. She's got a bad wound in her abdomen. I can't say for certain but she's lost a lot of blood and it's not looking too good."

Mulcahy looked back at him with unseeing eyes. Hawkeye knew he wasn't taking in what was being said to him.

"Father, I'm only warning you in case you'd rather not be in OR whilst… well I'll understand."

The priest looked back at him defiantly. "I am here to do my duty, and I will carry out that duty. Hawkeye, if you can bring yourself to operate on her, I can be in the same room."

Hawkeye nodded in confirmation. He headed off to scrub up leaving Mulcahy to gather what was left of his thoughts. He cast his eyes upwards again, and whispered a silent prayer.

"Please God, let her live. I'll do anything, just let her live."


	4. Chapter Four

_**A/N:** Apologies for the delay people, but I lost the thread a bit with this one. But I'm back on track, and I know exactly where this is going. I don't know how long it will take me to get there, but there is an end in sight. Thank you all for being so patient!_

**Chapter Four**

The injured kept on arriving and the compound began filling up with walking wounded. As more medical staff continued to arrive from the shelled out MASH units, the Mess Tent became a treatment centre for the less critically wounded. But as the war continued to rage around them, Hawkeye was engaged in his own private battle - to save his friend's life.

"I need more suction in here please, Nurse," he barked, and the young woman at his side complied immediately. His brow was beaded with sweat which mingled with the dirt and blood and ran down into his eyes making them sting. He ignored it, however, and continued with his task of sewing Sally's insides back together again.

"How's it going?" BJ's calm voice came from the other side of the room. "Have you managed to save her womb?"

Hawkeye sighed. "Just. Although I wouldn't fancy her chances of having a family in the future. That's if she has a future, it'd be a miracle if she avoids infection from this."

"Well, miracles are the Padre's department, Pierce. You just do what you can." Potter said firmly, never looking up from his own patient. If he had, he would have seen Mulcahy's blue eyes flash heavenwards and his hand reach out to steady himself. It didn't go unnoticed to Hawkeye, however.

"You OK, Father?" he said.

"Fine, thank you," came the rather clipped reply.

The nurse at the head of Hawkeye's table looked up hurriedly. "Doctor, I've lost her pulse," she said with a hint of panic in her voice.

The whole room seemed to stop for an instant, paralysed with fear at what those five little words meant. Then Hawkeye did as Hawkeye does. He fought back.

"Oh no you don't, Sally Lester," he muttered as he checked her pulse and began chest compressions. "You are not going to do this to me. You are not going to die with me elbow deep in your stomach."

Mulcahy could feel the room begin to spin around him, the white figures moving around in slow motion. He could see everything that was happening, but it was as though he was watching a film. BJ had taken over at the head of the table, checking for a pulse after each round of compressions. Hawkeye continued his repeated pumping of Sally's chest, ignoring for the moment the gaping hole in her abdomen. His mind flashed back to Sally's first night at the 4077th. He had seen her do exactly the same thing to a young soldier, pressing down again and again in a vain attempt to bring him back to life. It had failed then, and he had held her as she cried that night. He could remember the smell of her hair, and the damp patch on his shoulder which her tears had made. That first night he could never have known what would happen between them, how much he would love her. And how it would rip his very soul apart.

A voice brought him back to the present; Colonel Potter was at his elbow, talking to him.

"Father? Father! Come on, snap out of it. You've got to do your job, man. Give that girl the Last Rites. It's the least she deserves."

Mulcahy stood rooted to the spot, staring at Sally lying underneath Hawkeye's hands. Hawkeye was yelling at her now, shouting at her to "Get the hell back here, or there'll be trouble."

"I… I…" Mulcahy stuttered, "I can't. I just…"

A sudden wave of horror and nausea washed over him, and with a cry he spun around and ran from the room, sending nurses and dishes crashing to the floor as he went. He careered outside, and stumbled through the scrum of bodies in the compound towards his own tent, oblivious to the cries and yells of the people round about him. Once inside, he fell to his knees sobbing and, clutching his crucifix, he began to beg.

"God, please please God don't punish her like this. Don't take away her life before it's even begun. I am to blame for the sins which we committed, and I should be the one who is punished. Please God, spare her. I'll do anything. I'll give her up completely, cut her out of my life. I'll let her go and live the life she deserves and devote myself to you if only you'd just let her live. Please God, just let her live."

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, sobbing one his knees at the end of his bed. He recited every prayer that he had ever learned over and over through his tears until eventually he fell asleep. He was woken some time later by a soft knock on his door.

"Come in," he croaked, sitting up on his bed and wiping his face with his sleeve.

Hawkeye's worried face peered round the door, and he stepped inside the tent.

"Are you alright now?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Mulcahy flatly. "That depends on what you're about to tell me."

Hawkeye looked at the floor, then back up again.

"She's alive, Father. Sally is still alive.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

It was a week before Sally was well enough for Potter to even consider moving her to an evacuation hospital. It was another week, however, before Hawkeye would allow him to begin the proceedings that could take her there. Although not normally so sentimental of his patients, Hawk was enjoying having Sally around again. He had refused to tell her how serious her injuries had been, and so it was left to BJ to explain that she had been close enough to death for them all to have been scared witless, and that it had been Hawkeye's determination that had brought her back from the brink.

Sally sat propped up in bed in Post Op, receiving visitors on an almost hourly basis. But one person had been conspicuous in his absence from her bedside. Mulcahy had not seen Sally since the night of her arrival, and she was beginning to wonder why.

"Hawk," she asked causally one evening, as they sat playing poker and talking. "Is Johnny alright? I can't understand why he hasn't been to see me."

Hawkeye stared at the cards in his hand without seeing them. He didn't know quite what to say because he had no idea what had gotten into the Father lately. He seemed to be living on another planet, spending his days in his tent unless specifically called on duty. He would eat at odd hours, if he was eating at all, and the truth was no one had really seen him for a while. Except Hawkeye, who had called round to talk to him, and wished he hadn't such was his unfriendly attitude.

"I don't know what's wrong with him, Sal" said Hawkeye. "He went a bit funny after, you know."

Sally didn't know, but she could imagine all too clearly.

"I tried to talk to him," Hawkeye continued, "But it was like drawing blood out of a stone. He's clammed up completely. He won't talk to anyone, he won't join in with anything. I've even gone to his services – we all have. But nothing seems to be getting through to him. He's shut down. I think he's in shock, after seeing you in theatre. But when Sidney came round to see him, Mulcahy refused to talk to him. He says he's fine, and he wants everyone to leave him alone." Hawkeye shrugged his sagging shoulders and folded his cards up in defeat.

Sally couldn't say anything. She knew she had to see him, and soon. Hawkeye had told her that in two days time she'd be on the bus out of the 4077th and out of Korea forever. She couldn't leave without seeing him, not without doing serious damage to her peace of mind. She spent the next 24 hours asking everyone who came to see her if they'd seen Mulcahy, and the answer was always the same. They'd seen him, but they couldn't talk to him. He was with them, but in body only. His mind and his spirit was somewhere else entirely.

As she lay awake on her last night in camp, Sally came to a decision. She got up and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers, then pulled an anorak over the top to cut out the chill of the early spring night. Having told the duty nurse she needed to use the toilet, she crossed the compound and quietly let herself into Mulcahy's tent.

It was dark inside and it took a few moments before her eyes grew accustomed to the poor light. Slowly, she began to make out his shape on the bed, his shoulders rising and falling in time to his steady breathing. She crept over to his bedside and gingerly lowered herself onto the ground beside him, wincing as she felt her stitches tug.

A small crack in the blind let through the Korean moonlight, and she could see his fair hair shining out from under the blanket. Once again, for the first time in months, she found herself gazing down at his peaceful, sleeping face, and once again she cursed which ever God it was that had brought them together only to force them to stay apart. His gentle snores made her smile, and she reached out and gently brushed his fine fringe from his forehead.

He stirred at her touch, and for a moment when he opened his eyes, she could see that same tenderness with which he had always looked upon her. But as he returned to full wakefulness, the softness in his eyes disappeared to be replaced with panic. He sat up abruptly and pulled his covers around his chest.

"What are you doing here?" he said, sharply. "You shouldn't be here. You'd better go"

He began to fumble on his bedside table for his glasses as Sally visibly reeled from his stinging welcome.

"I beg your pardon?" she said. "What the hell is your problem?" she asked briskly. "I've been here two weeks now, and I've not seen you once. And to be honest, I'm more than a little bit hurt."

Mulcahy lit a lamp and stared at her in the soft light. "I've been busy," he said simply, turning away.

Sally felt her temper roar in her ears as she let rip. "You've been busy? You've been BUSY?" She tried but failed to keep her voice down. "I almost DIED and you tell me you haven't been to see me because you've been BUSY?"

Mulcahy looked away. "I can't tell you why, but I couldn't come. I just couldn't."

But Sally wasn't listening. "Do you know what I've been through? Do you know how scared I was? I was in so much pain when they put me in that ambulance and I knew, I KNEW which organs inside me were shattered to bits. I thought that I wouldn't make it. I could FEEL myself dying. And do you know what I was thinking? What was going through my mind as I bled to death? I was thinking how much I wished I'd never left you. I wished I'd stayed with you and loved you and told you how much you mean to me. I regretted every single moment I'd spent without you, and I promised God that if I lived, I'd make the most of my life by spending it with you."

Mulcahy sat stunned by this outburst, a lump forming in his throat.

"Oh Sally," he whispered. "I thought I was going to lose you, and I couldn't let that happen."

Sally sat choking back tears on the floor as he went on.

"I promised, Sally. I promised God that if he saved you, that I'd let you go. I prayed so hard," he whispered, as he reached out and took her face in his hands, "And it was granted. But now…" his voice tailed off.

"Now that you've saved me, you just watch me walk away again," she finished. "And what about my promise? What about the promise I made to God. The promise that if he spared me, that I would be with you. Or does your collar make your deal more valid than mine?"

His wounded eyes flashed at her, and she bit her tongue. Carefully, she pulled herself up onto the bed, and he helped her settle against the pillows.

"We would never be happy, Sally. I can't give you the life that you deserve. It would be full of guilt and sadness and disappointment. Surely it is better to have loved and lost…"

She put a hand to his mouth. "Please Johnny, spare me the platitudes. Nothing you say tonight will change my mind. I have made a promise to someone greater than both of us, and I won't break it. You promised God you wouldn't contact me, but there is no reason why I cannot contact you. I will write to you and remind you of my existence for as long as I feel there is hope. And one day you will realise…" she pulled his face close to hers until he could feel her breath on his skin. "One day you will realise that we are meant to be together."

And then she pressed her lips to his in a deliberate and loving kiss. He could feel his resolve crumbling with each second. She was here, in his room. Sally was lying in his bed and suddenly all those dreams which had made him blush so desperately in the daytime came flooding back. Of him, and Sally, alone in a room. With no pressures, or promises. Just the two of them and all the time in the world.

Then he came to his senses, and broke the kiss gently.

"You'd better go," he said.

Sally stood carefully and shuffled to the door.

"You can tell your head to forget us, Johnny. But your heart never will. I know, I've tried."

She turned and left, leaving Mulcahy to lie and stare at the ceiling for the remainder of the night. At around 0600 he heard a bus in the compound, and by the time he rose for breakfast at 0730 hours, Sally was gone.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_23 October 1957_

Father Francis Mulcahy sank down in the easy chair beside the fire. It felt good to be home again, even if it meant facing up to unhappy memories. He looked around the room and saw that his housekeeper, Mrs O'Hare, had thoughtfully removed the 'With Sympathy' cards which had covered every available surface in his living room before his departure. It had been a month since Katharine's funeral – he felt it was time to move on. Although he wasn't altogether sure what he would move on to.

The door opened and Mrs O'Hare breezed in, chattering away in her harsh Irish brogue which remained undiminished however long she stayed in Philadelphia.

"Now then, Father. You get some of this tea inside of you - remind you what you've been missing while you've been doing the Lord's work in them foreign countries. Sure, you're a martyr to the cause, Father. And your poor sister not yet cold in her grave before they ask you to go jetting off around the world…"

She poured tea for him as she spoke, and graced his plate with a piece of rich fruit cake which looked extremely appetizing. He smiled at her kindly and gratefully began to eat as she turned to go.

When she reached the door, she stopped and began fumbling in her apron pocket, pulling out pieces of string and a rather grubby rag in her search for whatever it was she was looking for. Eventually, she found it and spun round on her slippered heels to bring it over to Mulcahy.

"Father, before I forget, I found this letter the day you left. It was in amongst the cards. I put all your sympathy messages in a box, but I thought this looked personal."

Mulcahy wiped the crumbs from his fingers and the sides of his mouth and took the small envelope from her. His heart thudded over in his ribcage as he recognized the writing on the front. It was, of course, from Sally.

"Thank you, Mrs O'Hare. That's all I need for now."

The brash Irish woman, though not the brightest tack in the box, was old enough and wise enough to recognize when a man needed to be alone in his own house, and she wordlessly left him in peace. As soon as the door closed behind her, he pushed away his teacup and looked at the letter in his hands.

Sally had kept to her promise ever since she left Korea. The letters began to arrive at the 4077th after only a month, the first one having been written from the evacuation hospital. They continued in a fairly regular basis after that. He received two more in Korea before he was drafted home. Then, somehow, (he guessed through Colonel Potter who knew where he was), letters began arriving at St Philomena's shortly after he began his new work Every letter which arrived saw Mulcahy imagining what news might lie within them. Perhaps there would be news of increasingly lucrative work in paediatrics, and a new flat not far from the centre of London. One letter contained a photograph and Mulcahy imagined it being of a happy smiling Sally on the arm of a handsome young man with a protective glint in his eye. He imagined what news they might contain because he never opened any of the letters. His promise had been to cut off all contact, and he felt that to read those letters would be in breach of his contract. He also knew that with one declaration of love, he would be on the next plane to London and his life would be in ruins behind him.

But now, as he sat smelling the envelope for any lingering traces of her scent, he began to wonder what life he had left. His job in this parish, although fulfilling, was unremarkable. He had the feeling that if he were hit by a bus tomorrow morning, another priest in exactly the same mould would arrive by the afternoon. His beloved sister, who had placed so much faith and trust in God, had died an undignified and painful death before his eyes. And suddenly, the idea of purgatory seemed a drop in the ocean compared to the agony he felt at the box of unopened letters which lay in his desk drawer. One letter couldn't hurt, if it only served to comfort him, could it?

He carefully tore open the flap and pulled out the folded lilac sheet within. There was only one page, and it was filled with Sally's wild, scrawling hand.

_Dear Johnny,_

_Do you realise that this is the 50th letter I have sent you since I last saw you? I counted back in my diaries today and I was astounded to learn that fifty missives have flown from my pen to your hands. Fifty letters in which I have tried so very hard to keep you in my life, to keep you at the forefront of my mind and to hold that place in my heart where you always stay. Fifty letters in which I have tried to steal your heart. Fifty wasted letters._

_And so this letter shall be the last. I think I mentioned briefly in my last letter about my friend Peter. He is a surgeon at the hospital where I work, and we have spent a lot of time together in the last year or so. He, like me, has always been too busy working to consider marriage. And so we've talked things over and he decided to ask me if I would marry him. And I have accepted._

_There are no good reasons to back up this momentous decision - only boring practical ones. In January I shall be thirty years old, and my parents are beginning to despair of me. I am also growing tired of shouldering the responsibility of my role as a doctor on my own. Although I value my independence, there are times when I long to come home to someone at the end of the day and to talk through the hard sights and difficult decisions I have had to make. I long to come home to you, but I'm gradually coming to accept that will never happen. I've been writing to you for four years, and you've never once replied. Not even a postcard, or just something to let me know that you are receiving my letters. I don't even know if you'll get this. I don't even know if you are alive (although I pray every night that you are.) I can only hope, and somehow a life built on hope grows weak after a time._

_There is one more reason why I have decided to marry Peter. Simply, there is no reason for me not to. I am very fond of him, and I enjoy his company very much. We are extremely compatible and both our families are delighted at the news. The only person in this world who I can love enough to devote my life to is you, and so I may as well be with someone with whom I can be friends. Our wedding will take place at All Saints Church in Cricklemead, Bishops Waltham, on Saturday 21st October. _

_I can't believe I'm finally saying goodbye to you, after all this time. Believe me, this letter is not truly expressing the pain I am feeling as I write. I feel numb and empty inside. But I cannot continue with an empty promise. Apparently, your deal with God does trump mine. You always did like to be right._

_Goodbye, my darling Johnny. I will always love you, until my dying breath._

_Sally x_

Mulcahy had actually stood up from his chair and was about to call out to Mrs O'Hare to bring his coat and order him a taxi to take him to the airport. Then he thought to check the small perpetual calendar which sat on the mantelpiece beside the clock, and which Mrs O'Hare religiously updated every morning as she dusted.

The date read 23rd October.

Mulcahy sank back into his chair and cried silent tears of desolate grief.

As night fell, Mrs O'Hare came in with his usual cup of milk. She found Mulcahy fast asleep in his chair, glasses still on his face. All around him were letters written dreadful handwriting. An empty box lay on the floor beside his chair. And in his hand, he clutched a photograph of a young woman in an emerald green dress with dark chocolate eyes and a mass of dark curls.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_September 1958_

Mulcahy took a deep breath and let his lungs fill with the air of the cool autumnal evening. He looked out over the beautiful gardens; the lights of the hotel reflected in the lake, rippling slightly as the Maine wind disturbed the glassy surface. He could still hear the chattering from the open window of the bar. His friends were in there, laughing and catching up on the five years they had been apart. So many people, so many stories – his head was spinning.

Margaret had arrived alone, newly released from her army career and mourning the death of her father. They had spoken briefly about the demons she had dealt with since their time in Korea had come to an end. Having come to terms with her need to be loved by a man like her father, she had spent the last few years coming to terms with her need to be loved by a man like Benjamin Pierce. He was a hard act to follow, and she had slowly come to accept that the Hawkeye she fantasized about and the Hawkeye who now walked the streets of Crab Apple Cove were two completely different people. In Korea, he was her escape. But now, in the real world, she no longer needed to hide from what she wanted most – a future and someone to love. She was still single, but looking. And looking at her shining eyes and happy demeanour, Mulcahy knew that she wouldn't be alone for long. One thing hadn't changed about Margaret Houlihan, and that was her determination.

Sherman Potter, on the other hand, was a changed man. And it was his reaction to the news that Mulcahy was no longer the padre of the outfit which had led to the former priest seeking solace outside. When he had carefully shared his news with his former commanding officer, the older man's eyes misted slightly. He shook his head slowly, looking at the ground.

"I guessed that damned place wrecked all our lives, didn't it?"

Mulcahy had made his excuses and left.

And now he sat outside alone, wondering where on earth he had gone so wrong in his life. He remembered his first night in Korea, the smell of the dry earth and the foreign sounds from the surrounding countryside. He had been so sure that God had wanted him to go there, to help people. His faith in God had never wavered for a moment, no matter what he saw and no matter who he spoke to. Until that day, the day when Sally walked into camp with her funny accent and her serge green uniform. He recalled that very first night when she cried her heart out on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of her damp tears soaking through to his skin, and how uncomfortable he felt holding her in his arms – and that made him laugh. Holding her so close was the only thing now which he could imagine feeling right. But how could he choose between them, the two things he loved most in the world? His God, and his Sally.

His Sally. She wasn't his Sally any longer. She was someone else entirely now. Someone else came home every night to her smile. Some other man listened intently as she spoke about her day. And that other man held her in his arms at night as she slept. Did she even think about him now, he wondered? Had she been hoping right up until the moment that the ring was placed on her finger that he, Johnny (as she always called him), would come for her and make her dreams come true? If she had, then he'd let her down. He'd let everyone down. Everyone he'd ever cared for had trusted him, and he'd thrown it right back in their faces. All those people in the bar had looked to him for guidance. He was Father Mulcahy, the priest, the Padre. The one who held services to which nobody came unless they had a reason. He was the one who told them to have faith, the one who prayed for the souls of those in his charge. And now look at him, he'd given it all up. They must be thinking he was a fraud all along, fooling them into believing when he never believed himself. But he did believe, he had and he still knew that he could. But he also knew that he couldn't shake the feelings which had dominated his every waking moment for almost a year. The feeling of complete and utter desolation whenever he thought about her, and what they had. And how he'd let her go, and for what? He was alone now, and what's more he deserved to be.

Mulcahy took off his glasses and covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing them to stop the tears from falling. Then a voice behind him made him jump.

"Shouldn't you be at the piano right now?" He turned and saw the smiling face of BJ looking down on him.

"I don't think it would be very welcome, do you?" he answered sadly, "Just one more reminder of what a great guy I used to be."

BJ sat down on the step beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, then BJ spoke. When he did, it was so quiet that Mulcahy – with his poor hearing - could barely make him out.

"The reason I'm here alone this weekend is because…" he paused for a moment, drawing breath. "Peg and I got divorced."

"Divorced?" Mulcahy turned around in surprise. "Oh BJ, I'm so sorry, I had no idea…"

BJ waved his hand dismissively. "Don't be sorry," he said, "It was the best thing that could have happened really. We just… grew apart."

"But you were so much in love. You missed her so much when we were over there, how could it be for the best?" Mulcahy was astounded, and it showed in his voice.

BJ sighed sadly. "When I came back home, everything was just as I'd left it. Erin had grow, obviously. But other than that, the house, the car, the neighbours – everything was just as I'd remembered. All I had to do was pick up the threads of my life and carry on…" he paused.

"Except?" prompted his friend.

"Except I'd changed. I wasn't the same person who had left that life behind."

He stood up and walked down the steps towards the lake and began to throw stones into the water as he spoke.

"What I saw there, what I experienced… it made me a different person. Not necessarily a better person, or a worse one for that matter. But just different to what I would have been if I hadn't gone. And it took me a long time to realise that. Peg wanted to keep going with the plans we'd had before I'd left, wanted another child, a bigger house. And to me, they just didn't seem important any more. I gave up my job and took a post at a local clinic for disadvantaged people. People with no money and no access to health care. But Peg couldn't understand why I would do that. She couldn't see why all the material things didn't matter any more. She was the same woman I married, and I still loved her. But I wasn't the man that she had married, and because I loved her I couldn't force her to live a life she didn't want."

"So you split up." Mulcahy finished for him. "How did you cope?"

BJ didn't turn round, but kept speaking out over the water so that Mulcahy had to struggle to hear what he was saying.

"I just did. In a strange way I felt relief. I was relieved that I could get on with living my life how I wanted it to be lived. The hardest part was telling people. I haven't told anybody here, I couldn't face it. Not that I'm ashamed of being alone, but I'm ashamed of admitting to them that I'm not the man that they thought I was."

Mulcahy gazed at him through the darkness. "I don't understand," he said.

"When I was in Korea," BJ explained, "I was BJ Hunnicut. Husband of Peg, father of Erin. That's who I was to everyone in camp. And sometimes, if people were having an off day – and especially Hawkeye, I know because I've spoken to him about it - if people were having an off day, they'd look at me and think 'Well, it could be worse. Poor BJ's had to leave his wife and kid to come here' and somehow, for some people, that made it seem a little better."

Mulcahy nodded in silent agreement, knowing that he himself had that thought on more than one occasion.

"And now look at me," BJ continued. "I've left the war and what's the first thing I do? I go and get divorced. How can people relate to me now, how can people who've only ever known me as married BJ ever accept me as single and looking BJ? How can I live knowing that I've let them down so badly?"

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the 'plop' as BJ continued to throw stones into the lake. Mulcahy watched as they pierced the surface of the water, plunging out of sight to leave only the ripples to pinpoint where they went. The ripples which started out in one tiny corner before growing and magnifying until they covered the whole surface. The lights of the hotel were shimmering down, distorting and changing before his eyes. And he took a deep breath and spoke.

"BJ, you know that if people really are your friends, they'll accept you no matter what or who you are now. They might be disappointed at what's happened, but so are you. They mourn with you the life which has gone, but if they are true friends – friends who love you and want to stay in your life – then they'll help you to move on and celebrate all the new opportunities which your new circumstances have been blessed with."

BJ stopped throwing stones, and for a moment the two men stood there feeling the breeze rippling through their hair. Then he turned around to face Mulcahy with a beaming smile on his face.

"You're right, Francis. You're absolutely right. You know, you've always been good at giving advice, ever since I've known you. And nothing much has changed has it?"

Mulcahy opened his mouth to reply, but BJ placed his hand on his shoulder and spoke first.

"And it is pretty good advice. Don't you think?"

A voice made them both look up towards the hotel. Hawkeye was standing on the veranda of the bar with his arm around a woman. Silhouetted against the lights from inside, it was hard to make him out.

"Hey Beej, you owe me a drink! I just managed to get Radar to admit to putting Margaret to bed when she went on that 48-hour bender! And he saw her underwear! And, it wasn't army issue!"

BJ looked up towards where his friend stood. "I'll be up in a little while!" he yelled back.

Hawkeye's outline threw its hands up in the air. "BJ Hunnicut, you have 30 seconds to get up here for that drink before it gets poured down Radar's throat. I want to see if that wife of his is so sweet natured when he can't stand up any more."

BJ looked back down at Mulcahy. "Sorry Fath.. I mean Francis," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Mulcahy smiled in return and BJ walked behind him and loped up the steps towards the bar.

Mulcahy turned his attention back to the water. He stood and made his way down the steps to the edge of the lake before looking into its inky depths. The moon was out now, and he could see nothing of what lay beneath the surface, only the reflection of the heavens above his head. His gaze travelled upwards and he looked again in wonder at the myriad of stars and planets which glowed above him. Such an expanse of beauty could only have been the creation of a greater being, of God. He fell to his knees beside the water and began to pray out loud, not caring anymore who heard him.

"Dear God, forgive me for my sins. Forgive me for my failings. I never meant to let you down, but you sent her to me, and now I begin to see that perhaps it was all part of your plan. Forgive me for all I have done wrong, and though I don't deserve it – if it was your will, please, please give me one more chance with her. Just one more chance…"

He dropped his head to the ground, balling himself up into the foetal position. His hands hung down into the water, making ripples of their own as they pierced into the cool blackness. He felt the wind blow round him, rustling leaves and trees nearby.

And then felt warm breath on his neck, as someone leant close to him and whispered into his ear.

"If you want a second chance, Johnny, you had better hurry up and take it."

Mulcahy sat up, and found himself looking directly into the dark, smiling eyes of Sally.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

They sat there for a moment, neither daring to breath in case the other would disappear in a haze as though it were a dream. Then Sally broke the silence with a sob as she dissolved into his arms in a flurry of tears. He held her so close he though he might break her ribs, grasping her to him and burying his face in her hair. They sat there for a long time, holding onto each other as though their lives depended on it, and it a way they did.

Mulcahy spoke first however, as he came to his senses at last – or what was left of them.

"But… you're… I don't understand. You're married. You wrote me and told me. I thought… I assumed…" his words ran out as he looked at her shining eyes.

"You got my letter?" she asked breathlessly. "I didn't think you'd… you never answered them and I…" her voice cracked with the hurt which pierced his heart once more.

"I read your letter too late. I was out of the country and I arrived back two days after you… oh no, it's true, isn't it?" his voice threatened to crack and give him away. "You're married and I'm too late." His chin dropped and he stared at the ground, afraid to let her see the tears which were threatening to flow at any moment.

She caught his face in her hands and gently brought it up to face her.

"I'm not married. I couldn't go through with it," she said.

He stared at her in surprise. "You couldn't…. you mean, you're not?"

"I'm not. I thought you'd come and get me, and when you didn't, I was devastated, but I just couldn't give up on you. I couldn't let you go."

He stared at her in shock for a few more moments, taking in what she had told him. And then he threw her completely.

Jumping up from his kneeling position he let out a whoop of joy, a cry of utter exaltation – and leapt straight into the lake. Standing in the ice cold water up to his waist he continued to shout and holler as he splashed around, much to Sally's amusement.

"Johnny!" she yelled over his shouting, "Have you lost your mind? I don't understand!"

He waded over to where she knelt by the water's edge and looked straight at her.

"You were right!" he said. "You were right and I was wrong, and God wanted us to be together. I was just too wrapped up in looking for the wrong things to do rather than just giving in and doing the right thing!" He looked at her in breathless excitement.

"Johnny!" she said, catching his shoulders before he could disappear again. "You're not making any sense. What do you mean I was right? What about your calling?"

"My calling," he said softly, "Is to be with you. Forever. That's what God wants me to do. He told me so, just now. I've left the church, Sally. I thought I'd lost you forever, and suddenly life just didn't seem worth living. But now you're here and you're real," he paused for a moment. "That's if you still want me," he said, his face suddenly serious.

Sally laughed. She laughed long and loud and hard. "Do I still want you? A year ago I turned round to a church of three hundred people and told them the wedding was off! I wrote you fifty letters without one reply! Five years I've waited! I've travelled halfway across the world to see you, and you ask if I still want you? Are you out of your mind?" Mulcahy's heart sank as he realised how much he'd let her down over the years. How could he possibly expect her to feel the same for him after all he'd made her suffer?

Then it was her turn to throw him.

"Of course I still want you, more than ever. I love you!"

He laughed now, as he caught her round the waist and pulled her into the freezing cold water. She squealed as it wrapped around her legs, and she struggled and splashed him in mock horror at what he'd done. And then, they found themselves wrapped around each other, standing in the freezing water, oblivious to its debilitating cold. They could only look at each other and marvel at how close they came to missing out on the best thing in their lives.

"I love you too, Sally. Marry me," he said quietly.

Sally choked on a giggle. "Did you just propose to me?" she asked.

The old, shy Mulcahy made an appearance then, as he cast his gaze around to think about what she'd said.

"Well, yes!" he replied, suddenly bold again. "I suppose I did! Who'd've thought it, eh?"

A voice rang out over from the direction of the bar. "Well hurry up and kiss her then!" Hawkeye bawled.

They immediately turned to see that they had drawn an audience. It was hard to make out what the look was on their faces, but the cheer which erupted as Mulcahy and Sally finally sealed their future with a kiss told them all they needed to know.

oOo

On way home they'd wrapped themselves up in a blanket on the backseat of Hawkeye's car and listened politely as the man himself had hooted and yelled about the fact that "The kids had finally made us proud." Neither Mulcahy nor Sally had said anything, preferring to simply sit and listen with their fingers meshed tightly together lest anything might try and pull them apart. Later that night, as they on the bed together in Hawkeye's spare room, they told each other what had happened in the five years since they had seen each other. And it was time for some apologies too.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer your letters, Sally." Mulcahy said, not able to look at her.

"It's OK, it's all in the past now." she said softly, kissing his forehead. She brushed his fringe away, noticing it was slightly greyer now, and thinner. "You know, I used to love to watch you sleep, you always looked so angelic, the way your hair falls across like that."

He blushed at these words, "When did you ever watch me sleep?" he asked with a smile.

"A few times," she said. "In that hut with the North Koreans. And the night I came to see you, before I left camp."

Mulcahy bit his tongue remembering the harsh way he had spoken to her that night, and once again thanked God that she had loved him enough to see what he hadn't.

Sally yawned and rubbed her eyes, and he realised that he too was feeling rather sleepy.

"I think we'd better say goodnight," he said softly, sliding off of the bed and drawing the blankets round her slight body.

"Mmm, don't go yet!" she said playfully, pushing a hand out and stoking his cheek as he bent over her.

"I'll be here in the morning, I promise," he said, kissing her softly and sweetly on the lips.

"You better had be," she joked, "You've proposed to me now, there's no going back!"

He gathered up his quilt and stood watching her from the doorway, smiling the same warm smile which she remembered so well.

"I promise you, I will never let you go again, Sally. Never. Not for as long as I live."

With that he turned out the light, closed the door softly and padded downstairs to the sofa in the den. As he passed along the hallway, he noticed that there was a light shining out from beneath the kitchen door. Dropping his bedding in the hallway, he made his way along the cold tiles to see who was still up at this hour. When he opened the door, he found BJ rummaging in the fridge. Mulcahy sat down at the kitchen table and BJ turned around and smiled.

"You've had quite a day, haven't you, Francis," he said, placing a bowl of strawberries on the table.

"Better than I ever imagined. I can't believe it was only this morning that I spoke to you about Sally, about how I thought that none of us would ever see her again."

BJ smiled sadly at him. "I'm very happy for you, Francis. Truly I am. You two were made to be together." He sniffed at a plate of cold meat before placing it back on the shelf. "Just a shame it took you so long to figure it out for yourself!"

He punched Mulcahy playfully on the shoulder, and they laughed. Mulcahy looked at him seriously for a moment.

"I'm sorry it's come at such a difficult time for you though, BJ. It was a little insensitive of me to go crashing on about marriage and happiness."

"Don't worry about it, I've got my own way of coping with these things," he said with a wink.

Mulcahy looked puzzled, until the door opened. Standing there was Margaret Houlihan, her blouse unbuttoned dangerously low, and with a smile of her face.

"Any luck with that midnight snack, BJ? I'm getting rather peckish," she drawled, her voice sounding unmistakably husky.

Mulcahy removed his glasses and began to polish them furiously as BJ brandished his plates in reply.

"Don't stay up too late, Francis!" he said with a wink as he breezed past him and into Margaret's waiting arms.

Mulcahy sat at the table and listened to them giggling their way upstairs, only moving when he heard their door close behind them. He walked through the hallway, picking up his abandoned sheets on the way, and made his way to the den, undressing and settling down on the couch. He lay there for a few moments before he made his decision, and rose again from his bed. Tiptoeing upstairs, he let himself back into Sally's bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. She stirred at the soft 'click' of the catch and sat up in bed asking "Is that you, Johnny?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me. I wondered… we could just cuddle, couldn't we?"

Sally smiled at him in the halflight, and held back the covers to allow him to slip underneath.

**Fin**

_A/N: That's it, the end. This story has taken me a while, and has been through many different rewrites, especially when it came to the ending (one draft even has Sally ending up in California married to BJ!). But in the end, my soppy side came shining through, and because I've grown to love Sally and Mulcahy so much I couldn't bear to condemn them to an eternity of unhappiness – so there! Please forgive my sentimentality, and don't forget to tell me what you think! Thanks, Roo x_


End file.
